


The Tale of the Homely Prince

by ivoryandhorn



Category: Warcraft
Genre: 1000-3000 words, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Community: no_true_pair, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-06
Updated: 2008-07-06
Packaged: 2017-10-04 16:12:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivoryandhorn/pseuds/ivoryandhorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I be here ta tell ya da story o' da Warchief, da story of how he got his wolf an' hammer an' lady, from da days before he be leader o' da Horde, before he came ta dis land.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tale of the Homely Prince

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: _Sylvanas and Thrall as the main characters in a fairy tale._
> 
> This is basically the Warcraft canon thrown into a blender on high and then dressed up with many, many words. You won't need to know the canon to understand the story, though.

The children of the orphanage were unusually quiet this day, huddled in ones and twos and threes as the matrons fussed with tables and chairs and clothes:

For on this day, they were to have a visitor.

_He's here, he's here!_ a little girl cried, and little voices piped high in excitement, clamoring for a glimpse from the wide open windows—but they were hushed by the sight of Shadowhunter Vol'jin stumping up the ramp of lashed planks, his figure for one long moment silhouetted in the doorway before the strong Durotar sun.

And then he walked in, no longer legend but man, skin the hue of a summer sky, hair the shape of ripe love-apples, ivory tusks curving proudly from his lips, wiry limbs clad in leather and metal and bone.

Solemnly he settled into a crouch, not on the chair scrubbed for the purpose but on the floor, and the children needed no ushering to settle themselves in an arc before him, eyes round with wonder, gangling limbs still with anticipation.

After a moment, he spoke.

"I be ol' Vol'jin, an' I be here ta tell ya da story o' da Warchief, da story of he got his wolf an' hammer an' lady, from da days before he be leader o' da Horde, before he came ta dis land. Dis be a tale o' da Warchief before he _be_ da Warchief, one o' many, one o' da first. Dis be da Tale o' da Homely Prince.

"Once in a land far, far away…"

~~~

Once, in a land far away, there was a kingdom. A kingdom of riches and wonders, a kingdom that sat proudly atop the trunk of a gigantic tree, so wide that a man standing right among its roots might believe it was the end of the world, for nothing could be seen past it to the left, to the right, down below and up above.

The kingdom grew with the tree, following its slow steady growth towards the sky. But of all the kingdom's riches and wonders, the capital was the greatest wonder and richest gem of all: a sprawling city of white stone set in the kingdom's center, a gleaming diamond in a setting of purest platinum. This kingdom was known far and wide, in lands both elfin and human, as the kingdom of Nordrassil.

The ruler of Nordrassil was the fair Queen Tyrande. Some whispered she had to be a witch, or perhaps of elf blood, for despite ruling the kingdom of Nordrassil as long as anyone could remember, her face was as young and lovely as any maiden's, and few men denied that her gentle white eyes and turquoise hair was the stuff of dreams. Yet they sighed for her in vain, for her mate was wise King Malfurion, who had been at her side for as long as anyone could remember. Some said he, too, had to be of elf blood as well, or perhaps had been bewitched by his lovely Queen to remain her consort forever, unaging. The people of Nordrassil were as familiar with his smiling green-bearded face beneath his majestic antlers and loved him at least as much as they loved their wise, beautiful queen.

Yet for all their magics and elf blood, fair Queen Tyrande and wise King Malfurion were not blessed with children. And so, as the years turned into decades turned into centuries, their hearts grew sad, for who did they have to lighten their home and hearts with joy and laughter? Yet the goddess Elune smiled upon them, for one day a young girl came to their door. She said she was the daughter of King Proudmoore, ruler of the kingdom of Kul Tiras, and had left for she could no longer abide her father's myriad cruelties against the half-elves of their land. Fair Queen Tyrande and wise King Malfurion joyously welcomed her into their home and in this way, were they blessed with a daughter, the Princess Jaina.

Jaina grew into a beautiful maiden, with hair the color of sun-ripened wheat and eyes bluer than any ocean. She was skilled in the ways of witches—water and ice danced for her, and she summoned her familiar from no mortal or elfin land, but the land of the elementals themselves. The lady received many a suitor, yet turned them all away, content instead to study tome after tome in her thirst for witchly knowledge, and her parents had not the heart to force their beloved adopted child to take a man as her husband against her will.

Now, it happened one day that King Malfurion was wandering the gardens of the palace in Nordrassil when he suddenly felt greatly tired. He could not think why, for he had been taking naught but a leisurely stroll through the plants and animals, delighting in the abundance of life all around him, but such thoughts were soon swept aside by the urge to sleep, sleep forever. He lay down on a patch of cool grass and closed his eyes.

Ants crawled over his callused hands, but he was unmoved. Birds alighted on his arms and legs and pecked at his rich clothing, but he was unmoved. Deer bounced over and licked at his face in curiosity, but he was unmoved.

Finally, as the sun sank in the sky and the moon rose to take its place, the fair Queen Tyrande came searching for her mate.

"Malfurion, my love," she called, but he was unmoved.

"Ah, you must have tired more than I thought, my love," she said, but he was unmoved.

"The hour grows late, my love. Shall we retire to the palace and take our rest?" she asked, but he was unmoved.

And then fair Queen Tyrande touched her mate's brow and sadly beckoned for the footmen to come and bear his body away, for she knew now that her beloved slept not the sleep of the just or righteous, but some unnatural slumber wrought by a wicked witch whose powers surpassed even her own.

Three months passed, and still wise King Malfurion did not wake. The Queen searched desperately through all the books in the land, called all spellbreakers and cursemakers of the land to come to the aid of their king. At last, on one cloudless night, fair Queen Tyrande climbed to the highest tower of her palace, into the Temple of the Moon, and she cried her sorrow to the heavens.

"Great goddess Elune," she cried, "maiden of the moon who watches over us all, I ask for your aid: I cannot leave my love's side and my kingdom unguarded. Please, I implore you, send me some brave woman or man who will aid me, for I cannot rest easy until I know that my beloved Malfurion is safe beneath your embrace once more."

As luck (and the great goddess Elune) would have it, the very next day three travelers arrived in Nordrassil and walked boldly up the tree's mighty trunk, arriving at last before the palace gates. They were three princes, brothers not in blood but by adoption and oath, who had gone a-wandering in search of their fortunes.

The eldest was Prince Illidan, a tall, proud man who was said to have elfin blood coursing through his veins. The ladies of court sighed over his strong arms and brash smile, the lords of court fought to curry his favor and desperately wished to stand by his side, that they might bask in his glory and so gain glory themselves. In addition to his bravery and recklessness and his handsome face, Prince Illidan was said to be skilled in the ways of witches, could fling fire or ice from his fingers with a breath. They said that he hungered for knowledge and power as a starving man hungers for bread.

The second son was Prince Kael'thas, a slim youth with hair golden as the sun and eyes that glowed blue as the summer sky. Smaller than his elder brother, he was nonetheless as sought-after by the ladies of court, but unlike his elder brother he turned away all their attentions, and also the attentions of the young lordlings who chased him as well, choosing instead to spend his days among books. More peaceable than his elder brother, Prince Kael'thas hungered for knowledge not to gain to power, but to simply learn all that the scholars of the land had to offer, to hone his witch-born skills not for battle, but for the pride of his heart, of his family, of his people.

Their third child was Prince Thrall. Unlike his tall proud eldest brother and his lithe scholarly second brother, he was short and squat with arms that bulged with muscle. His skin was the green of growing things, his face was homely and tusked like a boar's. Yet for all his quietness and humility he was as well versed in the witchly arts as his elder brothers, if of a slightly different sort, for he had loved and respected nature, and it returned his love with its power. It is said that the elements danced at his beck and call, and with his trusty hammer he had gathered more hunting trophies than any other hunter in any land.

Queen Tyrande, for all her sorrow, welcomed these weary travelers into her home, and ordered that they be fed and clothed and watered and shown to the most gracious of her guest rooms, for though the bewitched sleep of her beloved king weighed heavy on her heart, it was not enough to blind her to her twin duties as a queen and a host. She bade them to come feast with her and her beloved daughter in the pavilion in the gardens, and the princes could hardly refuse such a gracious request nor the generosity of the queen, and came.

They were plied with delicacy after delicacy—fish steamed whole in tangy sauces, thick creamy soups, haunches of meat roasted to perfection and sprinkled with exotic spices, bread still warm and steaming from the ovens, greens freshly plucked from the royal gardens not an hour ago, thick noodles boiled to perfection, heady wines made of grapes and berries, elaborately wrought pastries oozing myriad sweet fillings, confections of sugar spun into fantastic beasts.

And yet for all the richness that overflowed their table and the lushness of the gardens all around, the three princes noticed that the queen and her daughter were unusually silent, picking at their meals and barely sipping their drinks, even as they urged their guests to eat and drink their fill of everything.

Finally, the dishes were swept away in favor of hot coffee and glistening fruits to nibble, and the eldest, Prince Illidan, finally spoke.

"Fair Queen," he began, "what ails you? For you have been uncommonly quiet throughout this meal."

"Forgive me," the queen murmured. "I have been lacking in my duties as host."

"Not at all, not at all," the second prince protested. "You could have hardly been more gracious. If silence is your way, then I pray your forgiveness for my brother's prying."

"No, no, that is not at all," the queen answered. "If I have been unusually silent this feast, it is only that my mind is weighed down by the other concerns, and I have no heart for gaiety and gossip."

"Then please tell us your woes," the third prince asked, "for we should want to repay you for the kindness you have shown us by opening up your home to us, three wandering strangers."

"Honored guests," she said at last, with a weary sigh, "wise King Malfurion, my love and mate, sleeps an unnatural slumber. I have only learned this of his bewitchment: that he lies locked in the Emerald Dream, and the spell was cast by a witch from a kingdom whose name and face are not unknown to me. She is a witch of great power and evil, with power even over death itself—the banshee queen Sylvanas Windrunner, who holds court beneath the broken stones of old Lordaeron, an ocean away."

Fair Queen Tyrande sighed once more and looked to the heavens, to the pregnant girth of the moon beaming down on them all. "Last night I prayed to the great goddess Elune to send me aid in freeing my beloved. But how can I burden any stranger with my quest, or ask guests under my roof to undertake such a perilous journey?"

Suddenly the princess bestirred herself and gazed calmly at their guests. She said, "My mother the queen cannot find it in her heart to ask you to rescue my father from the Emerald Dream, and so I shall in her stead. I offer my hand in marriage and my personal estate, Theramore in the south of Nordrassil, to any of you who is brave enough to travel across the ocean to old Lordaeron and slay the banshee queen Sylvanas Windrunner."

But when the first prince spoke, he looked not at golden-haired Jaina but to the fair Queen Tyrande, with her locks of turquoise and soft white eyes and violet skin, for the moment he had laid eyes on that beautiful lady, his heart had been lost.

"Fear not, fair queen," said tall, proud Prince Illidan. "I shall find this witch and slay her, and in so doing free your husband the king."

"Good luck, noble prince," the queen said. "Take with you my blessing."

"And mine," said Prince Kael'thas.

"And mine," said Prince Thrall.

And so tall, proud Prince Illidan bound back his flowing black hair and gathered up his warglaives, and set off down the road winding down the tree trunk of Nordrassil.

Three weeks passed, and still the king did not wake. Nor did tall proud Prince Illidan return. Finally, fair Queen Tyrande called the remaining two princes before her.

"Honored guests," she said, "wise King Malfurion, my love and mate, sleeps still. I fear that your brother Prince Illidan has befallen some treachery on his journey, some wickedness wrought by the banshee queen Sylvanas Windrunner from her seat in old Lordaeron."

When the first prince spoke, he looked not at the white-eyed queen but to the fair Princess Jaina, with her locks of beaten gold and sapphire eyes and skill to summon water spirits, for the moment he had laid eyes on that lovely witch, his heart had been lost.

"Fear not, fair princess," said lithe, scholarly Prince Kael'thas. "I shall find this witch and slay her, and in so doing free your husband the king and my brother Prince Illidan."

"Good luck, noble prince," the queen said. "Take with you my blessing."

"And mine," said Prince Thrall.

And so lithe, scholarly Kael'thas pulled on his robes of purple and silver and gathered up his sword and wand, and set off down the road winding down the tree trunk of Nordrassil.

Three weeks passed, and still the king did not wake. Nor did Prince Illidan or Prince Kael'thas return. Finally, fair Queen Tyrande called the remaining prince before her.

"Honored guest," she said, "wise King Malfurion, my love and mate, sleeps still. I fear that your brothers Prince Illidan and Prince Kael'thas have befallen some treachery on their journey, some wickedness wrought by the banshee queen Sylvanas Windrunner from her seat in old Lordaeron."

When the first prince spoke, he looked not at the white-eyed queen but to the fair Princess Jaina, with her back straight and proud and eyes that shone fearless of her promise and her and love for the elementals of ice and water, for the moment he had laid eyes on that sweet lady, his heart had been lost.

And she looked back at him, with his skin like growing things and wise eyes and hands whose touch was gentle for all their scarred strength, for the moment she had laid eyes on that humble man, her heart, too, had been lost.

"Fear not, fair queen, fair princess," said homely, humble Prince Thrall. "I shall find this witch and slay her, and in so doing free your husband and father the king and my brothers Prince Illidan and Prince Kael'thas."

"Good luck, noble prince," the queen said. "Take with you my blessing."

"And mine," said Princess Jaina.

And so homely, humble Thrall pulled on his plain beaten armor and gathered up his trusty hammer, and set off down the road winding down the tree trunk of Nordrassil.

~~~

"…down da tree trunk o' Nordrassil."

The sun had long since set, dying light streaking long shadows before the darkness ceased to grow and flickered instead by the light of candlelit lamps, when Vol'jin ceased speaking. He accepted a flagon of refreshing spring water from one of the matrons, drinking long and deep and the children fidgeted before him, impatient for more.

At last, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, "Dat be all for taday."

Little voices cried out, _But what about the other princes?_ and _What about the Warchief?_ and _Next, what's next, Vol'jin?_ but before the matrons could scold Vol'jin solemnly raised a hand.

"Ol' Vol'jin be havin' business dat be needin' his eyes, an' you be needin' ta rest, be needin' ta grow big and strong, 'cause da world not be forgivin' to da weak. I swear by my honor as one o' da Warchief's and da Horde, dat I be back tomorrow ta tell ya more o' da tale. But until den, da spirits watch over ya dis night."

And the children hushed, watching as this man, this legend, slowly rose, rolling back first one shoulder then the next, and stumped out of the orphanage as stately as he had arrived, vanishing into the shadows of Orgrimmar.


End file.
